


“…the fuck did you just call me?”

by reiley



Series: WIAD Home Game [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: writerinadrawer, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiley/pseuds/reiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto is woken from his sleep by a strange and unexpected sound. Then there's toast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“…the fuck did you just call me?”

**Author's Note:**

> *written using the prompt: [4.02](http://community.livejournal.com/writerinadrawer/133866.html)
> 
> originally posted 06/18/10

* * *

_“Aoshhtii!”_

Ianto lifts his head from the pillow, glaring blearily over his shoulder. He rolls onto his back, closes his eyes and drifts off again.

_“Iffch bundittre!”_ startles him, followed by a _clunk!_

“Shut up, Jack,” he mutters, pulling his pillow over his face. He doesn’t mind having Jack in his flat – likes it, in fact – but he’s really fucking _tired_.

Jack rarely stays in bed; Ianto prefers sleeping alone, sprawling out to all four corners, duvet tucked around him – can hardly sleep otherwise. Lisa’d understood that: _“There’s no rule that just because we’re sleeping together means we have to_ sleep _together_.” Jack doesn’t seem to mind, either.

The smell of burnt toast wafts into the room; the pipes knock and groan as the kitchen tap opens.

“F’rfucksake,” Ianto grumbles, untangling his legs and climbing out of bed. He finds Jack with one hand under the running water, index finger of the other stuck in his mouth.

Jack winces when he sees Ianto, says, “Sorry,” holding his finger up. “Steam burns.”

Ianto checks the pot on the counter, then shrugs. “It’s almost five anyway. Breakfast?”

Jack’s already sweeping the burnt toast into the bin and popping two more slices into the toaster.

“What language was that? Sounded like ‘ilk-bun-de-tree’.”

“Oh–” Jack’s face cracks, trying not to laugh (which Ianto somewhat appreciates). “Sub-dialect of…” He blows his breath out like a deflating balloon. “I can’t remember exactly.” He looks lost for a moment, the billion light-year stare.

Ianto waves a coffee under Jack’s nose to bring him back. “Toast’s up,” he says quietly. They eat in companionable silence. Ianto finishes his coffee, yawns, puts his head down on the cool table.

Jack’s fingers tickle through his hair, over his neck. _“Ibnshii,”_ he whispers. Ianto catches the smile before closing his eyes.

* * *


End file.
